Hyperosmia
by TurboNerdQueen
Summary: 'If there was one thing Savir despised more than bender scum, it was his damn nose.' ((Lieumon one-shot))


If there was one thing Savir despised more than bender scum, it was his damn nose. At an early age of his life, he had come to realize that he had a rather sensitive nose, one that was particularly more acute than others. Needless to say it made growing up while working at his aunt's floral shop a nightmare for the poor bastard, countless hours spent around such aromatic plants with their sickly sweet scent constantly assaulting his nostrils every day for the better part of ten years. When the time came, he took his leave and set out on his own, finding a job the next town over with the only company hiring: fisherman.

He didn't last very long around the putrid smell of fish guts lingering on his skin every night after his shift at the docks, no matter how many baths he took or how hard he scrubbed his skin. With what little extra money he had, Savir visited a local healer and begged for a cure to this damn nonsense, this 'hyperosmia' that he apparently had. The elderly waterbender was only able to throw together a small mixture of medicinal herbs for the poor man, but it was pointless. Nothing worked, no matter what he tried or where he went to. After a short period of time at the docks, he left and headed north to the bustling Republic City, hoping for better opportunities and a new life.

[x]

Well… he certainly got one of those when he encountered a masked man late one night in the dark of the alleyway. Savir watched in awe as the man single-handedly brought down several thugs in minutes, his moves fluid and graceful like a lethal dancer. It was only after the fight had ended did he approach this stranger, more curious than wary and asked for his name. The other man, shorter than Savir by a few inches at full height gazed up at the nonbender with guarded eyes, the lines on his mask painting a frightening image along with the large blotch of fresh blood plastered to the forehead of the porcelain, presumably from the bandits. Savir watched a rivulet trail down the bridge of the other's nose, painting the white a startling red as he held his breath. There was a long silence before he received his answer.

"Amon."

He had never seen fighting that style before, evasive yet offensive, and how this man had disabled the two benders in the small band of delinquents was… was…

"Teach me."

And that was that.

[x]

That felt like so long ago, a distant memory in the past that set his future in stone as the man's second in command. He had forgone his name just as the other had done, taking up 'Lieutenant' instead. It had taken some time and broken bones before he proved himself worthy, his anger towards the benders fueling his drive and sharpening his focus considerably when it came to combat. His skills for disarming and dual wielding put him at the top of his rank, and soon the two began to recruit new members for a cause. Eventually, they had over half the city on their side, half of which were training under Lieutenant's watch. Those he thought weak were either pushed past their limits or handed off to another trainer. He had no time to deal with those not fit for the revolution. Some of the older recruits quietly joked that the old man could smell fear in the new members and, for the most part, it wasn't so far from the truth. Those who weren't strong enough to survive coward in fright, reeking of a pungent and sharp, metallic odor that made him sick. Those were the ones he gave hell.

Yes, after all these years his nose was ever strong whereas his hearing was beginning to go in his left ear from an explosion a few years back and a stiff joint in his shoulder from a fall made swinging his kali stick a certain way painful. No matter his age, his damn nose was still going to give him hell. In their earlier days, Amon had often teased the other man about being part dog because of his nose, even going as far as getting him a 'doggy bag' from restaurants and a collar (although that one backfired on the masked man when the clerk asked if the Lieutenant was his pet or if it was the other way around). If anyone else were to repeat those events, the nonbender would more than likely string them up in front of City Hall or worse, but he let it slide with the younger man for one reason and one alone.

His smell.

It was almost always changing, never overbearing and suffocating like it was for others. It occurred to Lieu that first night when the two met in the alleyway, how amongst the piles of rancid garbage and the lingering smokiness from the firebender he caught the slightest hint of something elusive, indistinct yet oddly pleasing despite the other garbage around them. It was ridiculous to even admit it to himself let alone anyone else. Light and almost airy but still ever present for his acute senses to pick up on, never strong enough for the pale-eyed man to turn away in disgust. If anything, it drew him in like a moth to an open flame as for the first time in who knew how long he actually enjoyed the scent of another around him, regardless of gender. Granted, it was strange at first and he had almost been caught a few times in the beginning when he would lean over and 'accidentally' catch a whiff of the masked leader. After the last time he had taken precautionary steps, only doing so when they were forced to stand ass to shoulders in a crowded place or sparring together.

It would be during these few times and some more discreet passing seconds did the Lieutenant began to notice a pattern of sorts, silently categorizing each event with its corresponding smell.

For instance, there was a general block of soap that the members of the organization used during the showers, a simple bar that might have cost a yuan at the local market. It smelled the same when everyone else used it, leaving their smells either muted or faintly reminding Lieu of his time with his aunt in her shop… except for him. It was almost strange to know that Amon would walk in the shower, use the same soap everyone else in the compound used as well and came out smelling clean and on occasion _minty_. Lieu made a remark one night about how he reminded him of peppermint tea, knowing the other despised the drink. Since he wore that damn mask, the second in command had to base his reaction on his blue eyes behind the porcelain, watching as his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

"It's impolite to smell others, Lieutenant. We've been over this before."

Then there was the few times he had sparred with Amon, either in front of others or in the comfort of silence. When he had to teach the new recruits, Lieu would tough it out or channel his disgust at their metallic and repulsive odor through to his anger. With Amon, it was strange to find his sweaty state appealing. Almost arousing if he dared to cross that boundary. There was the saltiness and sharp scent that came with the perspiration, but there was an undertone to it, just barely detectable even to his nose. If he had to take a stab in the dark and guess, he would put his money on peppery. Yeah, that had to be it. Sharp, salty and peppery like the Fire Nation food he loved. Lieu made a jab at him for this, commenting on how he could smell him from a mile away. "You are what you eat," He said just as Amon took him from behind and pinned him to the mat not ten seconds later.

[x]

He wasn't sure when things had escalated from business partners to bedmates, and frankly he could care less at this point. If anything, it allowed him to hold Amon close and breathe in that tantalizing aroma, better than any warm glass of milk on a bad night. Especially after a night such as the current one, where the fearless leader of the revolution was bent in half and moaning like a damn bitch in heat, dragging blunt nails down the expanse of Lieu's back and leaving angry red marks behind. Spirits, there was no possible way to describe that scent, crisp and comforting and warm and _his_. No one else would get to see the man in this state but Lieu, no one would get to experience this chance to silence those damn lips with his own and take in that rich, heady scent.

[x]

Of course, where there are good there are also bad. Lieu couldn't remember how often he would wake in the dead of night to a horrid and tart smell, rolling over in bed to find Amon sitting up next to him, wide eyed and sweating profusely, his chest rising and falling heavily as if he'd just ran a marathon around the city. He would push it off as a nightmare, wanting Lieu to drop the conversation and just hold him –a rarity since the other refused to be touched after such terrifying dreams. Yet still the second in command would do as told, holding the man close and lulling him to a fitful sleep. Whatever was troubling the equalist leader bothered the older man, not only because it affected how his scent would be for days afterwards –a bitter and stale lingering shadow of a dream- but because he had grown attached to the masked man in ways he felt uncomfortable admitting out loud. He seemed to have issues confronting this problem of his, admitting certain things to Amon. Perhaps someday he would have the courage to do so…

[x]

That day would never come, not in the way he had hoped for. It was horrible, to be controlled against his will, suspended in the air like a puppet before flying backwards and… he couldn't remember the rest of what happened. Lieu remembered waking up in a world of pain, his body aching fiercely and his heart shattered by the truth of the matter. The man he had come to known as a brother and friend after all these years together, had come to love as more than possible for two men… a bloodbender. The very thing he despised and he _lied_ to Lieu about it all from the beginning. His feet began to move one in front of the other, the man not bothering to look as to where his body was taking him until it was late in the evening and he stopped at the foot of the bed he and Amon had shared countless of times before, had held one another and made love and so much more and it was just a fucking lie.

Lieu saw red, upending the room and leaving it a complete mess until he was sore and exhausted, slumping down against the far wall to blankly admire his work. His hand dropped down to his side, landing on a shirt that had survived the destruction. One of that bastard's. Lieu scowled, tightening his fingers around the cloth and gripping it in one hand, bringing it up to rip it to shreds when he caught a bare hint of the other's scent that remained on the material. No matter his fury, no matter his pain, just that simple inhale had brought back so many memories of their time spent together, each more heartbreaking than the last. His vision started to blur and he realized that he was close to tears. Dammit, he would not shed a single one over that asshole, not after everything he did, not after how he broke his heart. Lieu grimaced bitterly at the shirt in his hands, feeling his resolve crumble as a tear finally broke through his defense, followed by another and more until his shoulders were shaking with each breath, all his frustration and despair pouring out of him in anguished cries that filled the cluttered room. Burying his face in the shirt, he closed his eyes and took a breath, holding the cloth tightly as if it was the man himself. It was comforting and sweet, almost with a faint hint of spice from those damn fire flakes he loved so much but still held a bitter note of sadness. Lieu's shoulders shook again, a reluctant laugh that bubbled out of him. It was heartbreaking and bittersweet to let go of the man he loved, and he doubt he'd ever truly be over the person beneath the mask…

…but he could try.


End file.
